


Potentially Sam

by lexlorraine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Multiple Personalities, Psychic, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9660722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexlorraine/pseuds/lexlorraine
Summary: Sam has a vision; his head splits into pieces





	1. Chapter 1

_Thick rivulets of blood, almost black. the liquid ribbons dribbled down Sam’s chin._

Dean half-marched, half-stumbled through the pristine white halls of the hospital as a nurse frantically shouted at him; “Sir! You can't be in there, visitation hours’ve ended!” she had a subtle southern twang that reminded him of his dad. He ignored her.

_Sam fell in slow motion, knees crashing into the scraggly library carpet, news article filling up the computer screen forgotten. ’Girl mauled by animal in local forest,’ headlined in bold letters._

The nurse must have given up on her chase and retreated to the front desk to call for security. Dean sped up to a jog without thinking about it. Door after door passed on either side of him, but he wasn't paying attention to anything besides the sign stating “psychiatric ward.” He followed the arrow guiding him down a hall to his left; the nurse’s words dancing around his skull; “The kid that had a seizure in the library? He was transferred to the psych--Sir! Wait, you can't go in there!”

_The wails of an ambulance closed in on them as Dean wound Sam’s spasming arm around his shoulder, the kid’s other hand occupied with holding his head together. His eyes had started out squeezed shut, body tensed as tight as a coil, but now the whites of his eyes rolled like frantic cue balls. Some fucking good samaritan had called an ambulance, but Sam was having the worst vision he’d ever seen and he was bleeding and seizing for fuck’s sake so his quaking limbs wouldn't exactly fold into the impala. The paramedics wheeled him away strapped to a gurney and refused to let Dean ride in the back, so he followed; breaking probably ever traffic violation possible._

When he had asked the tired looking nurse in the front about a recently admitted patient--’tall, brown hair, bleeding nose; seen him?--the answer he received had sent him sprinting down the corridors.

Finally, he barrelled past a door, doubled back, scanned the room through the rectangular window. Without a second's hesitation he splipped into the room and stopped abruptly at the side of Sam’s bed. His brother looked like an animated bruise; skin pale and clammy, face drawn in pain even in sleep.  
“Shit, Sammy,” He murmured sympathetically. Now that he had confirmed that Sam was breathing and done with his fish-out-of-water impression, the exhaustion hit Dean like a semi. He dragged a metal folding chair from the corner of the room to Sam's side and slumped into it, stroking his brother's sweat-dampened hair. Someone had cleaned the scarlet blood from his face and his nose had stopped bleeding, good.  
There was a loud groan of rusty hinges as the door swung open behind him. Dean didn't turn around.

“Sir, i’m gonna have to ask you to leave and come back tomorrow during visiting hours,” the security guard said.  
Dean didn’t even twitch.

“He’s m’brother. I ain't going anywhere.”  
Heavy footsteps neared him but he refused to dislodge from Sam’s side, still running his fingers through tangled strands of chestnut hair. Before the footsteps closed in on him, a second set suddenly scurried into the cramped hospital room.

“it's okay, Daryl; he can stay. I’d like to talk to him about our John Doe’s condition,” a new, softer voice intercepted. a hesitant shuffling from the security guard and the heavy door creaked shut behind him. The new man wavered uncomfortably behind Dean and cleared his throat. “I’m Doctor Scott; I stabilized your friend after his seizure.” Dean glared up at him.  
The doctor stepped closer and crept to Sam's other side.

Doctor Scott was a slender young man with mussed brown hair and doe-like dark eyes. Great, his kid brother was being treated by a teenager.  
“Well, Mr…?” Doctor babyface inquired.

“DeYoung.”

“Mr. DeYoung, your brother was originally brought in for a seizure, which im sure you're aware of, but he was almost immediately transferred to the psychiatric wing after being stabilized. Does he have a history of mental illness?”  
Dean rolled his eyes. He needed to get Sam out of here, he didn't have time to come up with a logical explanation for a psychic vision that turned his little brother’s brain to mush.

“He gets a little confused when he has...episodes. But he doesn't belong in a fuckin’ nuthouse,” Dean snarled.  
Doctor Scott pursed his lips and nodded understandingly. Asshole.

“So do these episodes of psychosis and delirium occur often?” he asked.

Dean glared. _“’psychosis and delirium?’”_ he repeated. Doctor Scott huffed out a sympathetic sigh.

“He wasn't just confused, Mr. DeYoung. His mannerisms, tone, mood; they were rapidly altering in the matter of seconds. More than just altering; it was like he was becoming a different person. I'm no psychologist, but if I had to guess, i’d say your brother suffers from dissociative identity disorder.”  
Dean blinked; poker face wiping his expression blank to hide the flutter of panic curling in the pit of his stomach.  
“He's not crazy,” he spat.  
The doctor’s mouth pulled down at the corners.  
“Patients with D.I.D. aren't crazy, _sir._ ”  
Dean seethed and resisted the urge to turn this guy’s pompous face into a punching bag.

“Well, like you said; you ain't a shrink. My brother was brought in for a seizure and now i’m taking him home.”

“I wouldn't recommend that.”

“You gonna try and stop me?”

“...No. But I feel obligated to stress to you the seriousness of your brother’s condition.He needs psychological evaluation and some form of treatment.”

“Screw you. He’s fine.”  
The doctor nodded solemnly, mouth a thin line, and left the room.  
“The hell’s goin’ on in there, Sammy?” Dean muttered and Sam remained still as stone


	2. Chapter 2

__

    Getting Sam’s overly long limbs into the passenger seat of the impala had required sweat, getting smacked in the face by limp ligaments more than once, and ditching a hospital wheelchair in the parking lot, but it was worth it to be on the road again with Sam by his side, where he belonged.

    By the time Sam woke up, they had already been driving over an hour and the hunt was far behind them. Dean had wasted no time in calling Bobby to feed him the information they had collected so he could pass the hunt off to someone else.

    A soft groan to Dean’s right had him breaking into a relieved grin; The weight of 1000-pound-worry lifted from him.

    “You up, sleeping beauty?” he hollered. Sam precariously turned to him; eyes watering from the sudden exposure to sunlight. He looked Dean up and down like he was seeing him for the first time. 

    “um...who the hell are you?” he questioned breathily. Dean looked back at the road, back at Sam, back at the road. 

    “What?”

    “Di-did you...kidnap me?” Sam sputtered; bewildered and more than a little trepidatious.

    “No, Sammy; it’s me, Dean.” 

    “I don’t know a Dean. And my name isn’t ’Sammy,’ dude,” he slurred confusedly as his body sluggishly awoke.

    Sam’s voice was smoother than usual; more surfer or stoner than emo-control-freak.

   Years of “It’s not ’Sammy,’ it’s ’Sam’” ran around his brain, but instead Sam simply said, “My name’s Andy, Andy Gallagher.” 

Dean felt like he was tailspinning. The doctor had said ’dissociative identity disorder,’ that Sam was becoming a different person... _ fuck.  _ they were so screwed.

      “Although i'm not sure why i'm telling you this since you, uh, kidnapped me and all,” the words tumbled out of his mouth almost too quick to decipher. His face was white with fear.

    Dean swore under his breath and calmed his frantic nerves; reassuring Sam as soothingly as he could; 

    “I didnt kidnap you, alright? I just wanna figure out what's going on here; thats all.” Sam nodded hesitantly; cautious gaze refusing to waver.“Alright,  _ Andy _ , What’s the last thing you remember?” Dean grit out past the hammering in his chest. Sam (Andy?) bit his lip and fidgeted; wrapping his fingers in the fabric of his hospital gown. It was such an un-sam-like reaction, it caught Dean off guard. Sam had a steely poker face that he slid on as easily as a mask, but this version of him didn't seem to have any problem with letting his anxiety be known.

    “Honestly? Lighting up.” he responded. His shock-widened eyes flicked nervously over the windshield, but he seemed a bit calmer. Dean swallowed. His mouth was too dry. This was fucking bizarre. 

   “Cigarettes?”

   “Greener.”

   Dean had to clench his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. He didn't know what to fucking do with this; how to fix this.

    “Alright,” He tried to appear less freaked-the-fuck-out than he actually was, “You, uh, had a seizure. We were at the library when you went down from a vi-- a headache, and...yeah. Someone called an ambulance so I followed, but I got stuck on the freeway. By the time I got here, they’d transferred you to the psych ward. I got you out. Then you woke up...different.” Sam-Andy nodded minutely; his body language screaming his distrust.

    “I’ve never had a seizure, um, before, have I?” he muttered quietly, “B-because I don't remember this one so im assuming I wouldn't, uh, remember...another…” he trailed off; making vague hand gestures and swallowing rapidly. Dean reminded himself to breathe. This version of Sam or--  _ person  _ or whatever, he was nothing like Dean’s sharp, confident, demanding little brother. Andy was...definitely  _ not  _ Sam. His head hurt. 

    “No,” he answered, “This was new.”


	3. Chapter 3

__ Dean decided at the last second to take the exit to South Dakota; he felt much safer having two pairs of eyes on Sam while he “wasn’t home” and Bobby was one of the few hunters he trusted. This whole thing was just unbelievably fucked up and there was nothing Dean could do to help, to pull the pieces of Sam’s head back together and get his brother back. For the most part, Sam-Andy had kept up an impressive streak of silence for the last two hours.

    “Hey, uh, Dean, right? So, um...how...exactly do we know each other?” Sam-Andy nervously asked. Well, silent-streak broken. 

    Dean tensed involuntarily. Sam thought he was Andy and  _ Andy _ wasn’t Dean’s brother, so...shit.

    “That’s kind of complicated,” Dean replied. Sam-Andy’s brow crinkled; the first sign of emotion he had shown besides fear and confusion.

    “Well, you can’t... _ un _ complicate things?” 

    Dean swiped his fingers over his mouth and tapped the beat of “When the levee breaks” on the steering wheel.

    “Um...here’s the thing…,” he began, “We’re brothers. And your name isn’t Andy; it’s Sam.” Dean glanced at Sam-Andy from the corner of his eye. The kid was frozen staring out the window, muscles stiff; Dean couldn't see his face to gauge his reaction. He continued, “When you had your seizure, it was from a vision--a premonition--and when you woke up, you weren't... _ you.”  _ Sam-Andy turned to him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

    “Okay...you’re crazy,” he stated flatly, “I'm not your brother, but...I hope you find him, I guess...y'know, if he’s real.” Before Dean could protest, Sam cut him off; “Anyways, I, uh, gotta go before you cut me into pieces or something.” 

    Dean glanced at Sam incredulously. He scoffed; “Look, man,  _ you're  _ the crazy one if you think i'm letting you go. I'm takin’ you to Bobby's, see if he can help get you back to normal.”

   “ _ Stop the car,”  _ Sam-Andy’s voice reverberated in his head and Dean watched himself turn off the road; putting the impala in park. When his free will slingshotted back, he was lightheaded.

      “What the hell did you do to me?” he yelped; eyes rounded and heart thumping wildly. No,  _ no _ ; Sam could  _ not  _ control minds --  _ please don't let Sam be able to control minds --  _ Wasn’t it enough that he thought he was another person for fuck’s sake? 

    Sam-Andy murmured a quick, “Sorry, man,” and pushed the passenger door open.

    “Wait!” Dean intercepted, “Don't do this, Sammy. I can help you figure this out; We can get you better.” He was desperate. If Sam left in his current state of mind, who knew how long it would take to find him again? Just as He pulled the door handle, Sam-Andy commanded, “ _ Don’t follow me,”  _ in that distorted, persuasive voice. Dean uncurled his fingers from the handle. He sat still with climbing panic as Sam exited the car, shut the door, and started down the deserted backroad. 

    He got all of ten feet away before freezing in place and abruptly clutching his head in pain. 

    “ _ Sam! _ ” Dean yelled out the window. Everything in him wanted to leap out the car and drag his brother back, but  _ andy _ fucking Obi-Waned him and removed that capability. He watched helplessly as Sam shuddered and fell harshly to his knees on the dusty road. Another shudder and--


	4. Chapter 4

    Dean shut the door of the impala and stepped into the humid South Dakota air. The passenger door creaked and groaned behind him as he leaned back against the heated frame. 

    “‘Bout time you idjits hauled your asses up here,” came a gruff voice from the wooden porch; the screen door squealing shut.

    Dean smirked as casually as he could muster and greeted the older man with a monotone, “Hey, Bobby.” 

    Bobby sauntered down the porch steps to pull Dean into a bear hug. His smile wavered when he made a move towards Sam and he responded by shooting his hand out. 

    “Hi,” Sam started with an uncomfortable grin, “I'm Ava.” Bobby’s eyebrows shot up as he hesitantly shook Sam’s outstretched hand.

    “Alright then. Nice to meet you.” Bobby shot daggers at Dean with a glare that he assumed had scared plenty of seasoned hunters shitless. Dean flashed a sheepish grin. Sam cleared his throat and pulled his hand away from Bobby; wiping his palm on his jeans. Neat freak then, noted. At least  _ that  _ part was familiar. Sam gestured to Dean.

     “I guess I blacked out or something; Dean found me on some random road. He offered me somewhere to stay for the night and said he’d lend me money for the bus to get back home tomorrow,” Sam explained. Bobby grunted in response. After about twenty seconds of a truly torturous silence featuring Bobby continuing to leer vengefully at Dean and Sam awkwardly avoiding eye contact, Bobby said, “Ava, would you mind steppin’ inside for a minute while I have a talk with Dean?”

    Sam jumped out of his skin at the sudden request then collected himself; nodding jerkily.

    “Of course. Oh--do you--um--would you mind if I used your bathroom?” 

    Bobby gestured to the house;

    “Down the hall; second door to the left.” He smiled tightly as Sam muttered a “Thank you” and scurried inside. 

    The second the screen door swung shut, Bobby turned on Dean like a rabid dog. “What the  _ hell  _ have you boys gotten yourselves into now? By the way, a phone call to warn me woulda been appreciated.” he scolded. Dean subconsciously took a step back from the snarling man. 

     “I got no idea, Bobby. There's something wrong with him --  _ really  _ wrong. I was hopin’ you could help me figure out how to fix this jekyll-and-hyde crap,” he was on the verge of pleading despite knowing the man would always help, no matter how much he griped. Bobby’s eyes softened. He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

    “You two are gonna dig me an early grave,” he grumbled as he nodded towards the house. Dean followed at his side; The gravel crunching under their boots as they walked. “How’d all of this get started?” he asked exasperatedly. Dean sighed in relief. Good, Bobby was past wanting to rip Dean’s lungs out. He knew he  _ should  _ have called before springing this on him, but he wasn't sure he would believe him until he saw it himself.

    “Sam had a vision, but this one was different. he had a fucking  _ seizure _ , Bobby.” Bobby’s face fell at the news.

    “Son of a  _ bitch _ ,” he breathed out. Dean didn't respond--he  _ couldn’t _ . Every time he remembered Sam's jerking limbs and choked grunts, his chest ached; throat swollen, helplessness stirring in him like a parasite feeding off of his fear. He cleared his throat; shaking off the recollection of nausea-inducing terror.

     He said, “When he woke up, he was calling himself “Andy” and he had no idea who I was.” Bobby crooked an eyebrow. 

      “So you mean to say that Ava isn't the first one to take up residence in the kid?” Dean shook his head.

    “Nope.”

    “There any others I should know about?”

     “Just Andy and Ava so far. And It gets worse.” Dean nervously tapped his fingers against his thigh. He had no way to know how Bobby would react to  _ this. _ Bobby snorted and shook his head.

     “When  _ doesn't  _ it?” he muttered darkly. He had a point.  Dean swallowed and stared at his feet.

    “Andy...he, uh...he can control minds, Bobby.  _ Sam  _ can control minds.”

    He avoided Bobby’s gaze and the man whistled. “Well...that’s new,” he mused. Dean glanced up at him in surprise. Bobby rolled his eyes.

    “The boy sees the future, Dean. don't tell me you didn't see it comin’ that he'd develop more abilities.” Dean abashedly returned his eyes to the gravel. Whether because of denial or his pledge to think about sam’s  _ abilities  _ as little as possible, he hadn't considered the possibility. 

    He huffed and mournfully said, “I don't know what to do, Bobby. Sammy’s trapped in his own head and i've got no idea how to bring him back.” Bobby clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

    “We’re gonna get this sorted out, son.” Dean nodded. 

    “Yeah.”

    Bobby pushed the front door open and was met by the barrel of a rifle with Sam--sweaty, eyes bulging, breathing hard--on the other end of it.

    “How the  _ fuck  _ did I get here?” he growled; voice shaky. He was terrified. Both Bobby and Dean cautiously raised their hands and exchanged glances. Dean took a quarter-step forward; slow and wary of the cocked gun in Sam’s hands. 

    “ _ Easy _ ; i'm a friend, okay?” Dean said. Sam swayed on his feet. He was close to hyperventilating. Dean took another step forward, over the threshold. Sam tensed and backed up.

     “What are you doing?  _ Stop. _ ” he demanded. Dean opened his mouth as if to respond and lunged; tackling Sam to the floor and yanking the gun away. 

    “ _ Don't touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!”  _ Sam screamed. His voice was higher and more panicked than Dean thought he had ever heard it. It broke his heart into as many pieces as Sam's fractured brain. Dean tightened his hold on Sam’s shirt; they were a mess of tangled, squirming limbs as Sam attempted to wrestle his way out of Dean's grasp. Dean reached for Sam’s wrist, but he jerked it away before his fingers could even brush the skin. “ _ I said don't touch me! Fuck-- _ fuck _ \--get off!”  _ Dean could hear the tears in his voice.

    “You  _ need  _ to calm down! I'm not gonna hurt you!” Dean yelled over Sam’s desperate string of cursing and the sharp hitching of his breath.

    “ _ That's not what i'm worried about! _ ” Sam finally managed to wiggle out of Dean’s arms and scrabbled away; his back smacking into the kitchen counter as he sighed in what appeared to be relief. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head rest back onto the fading wood. Dean caught his breath, got to his feet, cracked his back. He was getting too old for this shit. He tossed the gun to Bobby and carefully walked over to Sam, crouched a few feet away to be at eye level.

     Without opening his eyes Sam quietly said, “I have this... _curse_.” Dean listened attentively. Bobby watched from the other side of the room. “If you touch me, you'll die. I can't be the cause of another death. So if i’m here for you to kill me, you better use that gun and get it the fuck over with,” Sam hissed venomously. He opened his eyes and jutted his chin out defiantly. His chest was still heaving with too-fast breaths. _Shit,_ another psychic ability. Except...this one _directly_ caused death. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ This made mind control and death premonitions look like a walk in the park. Dean wet his lips and dropped to his ass from the crouch he was in; bending one knee up to his chest and leaving the other leg stretched out. 

     “I meant what I said; i'm a friend. No one's shooting anyone, okay?” Dean injected as much sincerity into his voice as possible. Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously but nodded once. Dean took that as a win. “What's your name?”

    Sam's jaw clenched and he swallowed. “Lily,” he answered. Great, another chick.

    “My name’s Dean. You've been having blackouts, Lily; that's why you don't remember coming here. I'm letting you crash here for the night before heading back home tomorrow.” he'd learned the hard way that telling the truth didn't work out with these new sides of Sam. Sam swallowed hard and flicked tear-filled eyes to the side.

    “Why are you helping me? I just told you that people  _ die  _ if they touch me--you should be running scared,” he said. Dean lazily shrugged a shoulder.

    “I'm not easily scared off.”

    “You  _ should  _ be.”

    “Why?”

    “ _ Because I killed my girlfriend!”  _ Sam yelled. His tone contained a miserable combination of anger, remorse, and grief. A tear fell down his cheek and in that moment, Dean realized that Lily probably had the most in common with Sam than any of the other personalities. Guilt from the death of their girlfriends, the fear of being a monster, and something he’d recently recognized in Sam; a deep, dark chasm within him that he constantly stood at the edge of, waiting to be swallowed by the darkness--and maybe even welcoming it. He found himself involuntarily thinking of Lily as a real person.

     “You can't blame yourself for her death,” Dean argued softly. Lily laughed without humor; angry and broken.

     “Like  _ hell  _ I can't.”

     “I think we could  _ all  _ use a drink,” Bobby piped up and started towards the liquor cabinet. Dean thought it was the best idea he'd heard all week.


	5. Chapter 5

_ “Sure, I can look them up. What are the names again?” _

 

“Andrew Gallagher, Ava Wilson, and Lily Baker.”

 

_ “Alright, got ’em. So, what exactly do you wanna know?” _

 

“Mostly, if they even exist. This is just a hunch. And if they do...anything you can find.”

 

_ “Okay, let’s see what we've got here...I found a couple Andrew Gallaghers; got any information I can use to narrow them down and find your guy?” _

 

“You mind listing off the ages?”

_ “There's an eighty-three year old, then it goes down to sixty, forty-seven, twenty-two, nineteen--” _

 

“The twenty-two year old, what can you tell me about him?”

 

_ “Ahh, well, our friend is adopted, squeaky clean criminal record, in a shit-ton of debt--but it doesn't look like there's any evidence of payment.” _

 

“Huh. Alright, can you see if you can find twenty-two year olds for the rest?”

 

_ “Okay...twenty-two year old Ava Wilson, twenty-two year old Lily Baker...yup, they check out. How the hell did you know?” _

 

“Like I said, just a hunch. Do me a favor; email me everything you can find on them.”

 

_ “Not a problem.” _

 

“Thanks, Ash.”

 

_ “Oh, and, Dean, Ellen said if you don't check in with her soon, she's gonna “kick your ass so hard, you'll be standing for a week.”” _

 

“Good to know. Tell her i'll call in the morning.”

 

_ “i'd call tonight. She mentioned that she could get to South Dakota in under three hours if she needed to.” _

  
“Right, i’ll call now.”


End file.
